In the Pursuit of Perfection
by Discoabc
Summary: I was an assassin. And this was the mafia, not some sort of friendship game. It was therefore an absolute wonder that people were so surprised when they got stabbed in the back again and again and again. Oc-insert!Bianchi Assassin!Oc Semi AU
1. Death

The mafia is dangerous.

Its _hardly_ a statement that needs reiterating, after all, you almost inherently know this from the day you first become aware of the world around you. Roses are red, violets are blue, and the mafia is-

_Dangerous_.

You had to be insane not to think so; they were an organized international body of _criminals_ who had access to a large array of weapons for starters. Although, despite that being what most people took most fear to, their ability to _kill_ and _torture_, it was not what I found myself being most wary of.

I was an assassin. A hitwoman. A killer for hire. A straight up murderer. I answered to all names-_although some with a half amused, half icy glint to my eyes_-as long as the money was put in front of me and the thrill was guaranteed.

It was my profession that gained me the fear of something entirely different to that of the majority of the general public. To begin with, when one is a criminal themselves and deals with other criminals on an almost day to day basis, being scared of those who broke the law was a ridiculous thought. And my collection of weapons meant that the mafia's large fireman arsenal available to them all wasn't exactly so intimidating I'd be crippled with terror.

No, it wasn't the prospect of the mafia being able to massacre people with ease that I found to be so dangerous.

It was that the mafia could massacre people with ease and then get away with it.

Assassins did not have that luxury. We were a completely different breed even if people tended to lump us together in the media. When an assassin was tasked to kill someone, they did not simply nod their head and have the deed done the very same day, or even week as it happened.

Assassins planned. Meticulously. We studied our targets. We tried to understand what it was like to live inside their heads. We figured out their weekly routines, their daily routines, their morning routines. We picked up on their habits, good and bad. We found that one crucial moment of vulnerability. And then, finally, after every detail and every outcome of our own actions were etched into our minds, we killed.

Perfectly.

It was an art, so to speak. An almost impossible art where even the smallest of hand movements or the slightest flutter of eyelashes were calculated moves decided days in advance.

Mafioso were different.

Of course, they planned but it wasn't to the same level of planning that an assassin would do, it instead being more in the realm of strategic military planning. But most of the time it wasn't even that. Instead:

Step one: find target.

Step two: point gun.

Step three: pull the trigger. Rinse and repeat.

It did not matter if the killings were in the middle of the day, did not matter if there was a large crowd of innocent civilians watching. The mafia were untouchable. They were the gods of the underworld we lived in and, if it so happened that they wanted you dead, you were practically already gone from this life. One can't exactly defend themselves against _gods _now can they? Gods that were abundant in number.

I was done in by these _gods_ too.

I'd done the most unfortunate thing of assassinating a friend of a friend of a mafioso. An honest, stupid mistake in my otherwise perfect planning. After all, one does not simply _kill_ someone evenly loosely associated with the mafia and expect to get away with it with their life intact.

My death was rather dramatic. Ten or so men burst into the high restaurant I was eating at, smacking a waitress out of the way as they stormed over. One smashed the nearby champaign bottle over my head. Another pressed a gun to my temple. The rest pointed their own weapons at me as I tasted a mixture of blood and expensive alcohol in my mouth. I parted my lips to say something but the trigger was pulled and, well, _bang, bang._

Imagine my surprise therefore when I found my eyes parting once again to a blinding light.

Almost immediately, I eliminated the possibility of having reached heaven. The idea was preposterous-what kind of god would ever let an assassin into their paradise?

(Pun unintended.)

My next idea was that, judging from the substance covering my body feeling much akin to blood, I had somehow survived the assault on my body but had suffered from a bout of blindness since my vision was refusing to focus.

I turned my attention to the garbled noises I was hearing in the background. It was people speaking-speaking _italian _or a similar language by the sounds of it. It fitted in with my theory of having survived the attack, I had been in the home of the mafia after all.

"_Girl...you…concerned…"_

I had great difficulty hearing the people speaking and I frowned mentally. _Well, I did get shot in the head and it is a miracle I'm alive but it has messed up my senses entirely. _

"_No noise...alive but...unusual."_

My ears strained even more.

"_Give her...mother."_

Suddenly, I felt my entire body being lifted upwards and I made an involuntary noise of discomfort and surprise. Voices blasted out after that and I was practically shoved into what felt like the fabric of clothing, deducing I'd been handed to a human being. _"There's a good girl._" This time the voice was close enough for me to hear properly even with how badly my ears were operating. _"What a beautiful baby girl you are...Bianchi…_"

Confused, I tried to move my limbs, stretching out my right arm and fingers that felt soft and..._weak?_

Weak. I was weak and that meant I was powerless. At the mercy of those around me. So very killable.

_You got shot in the head. What exactly did you expect? More strength? Like in that silly manga about the mafia and friendship games you used to get a kick out of laughing at?_

_Funny. A girl in that manga was called Bianchi too._

It was then, much against my will, I fell asleep.

* * *

One and a half months later my vision began to clear up. I had not known it had been this long as I suspected I'd slept for more than half of the time. It isn't really as silly as it sounds, to simply accept my circumstances without too much fuss. After all, I'd been under the impression that a bullet had lodged itself inside of my head and that the people around me were taking care of me (or waiting for when I could properly speak and share secrets with them, so many deadly, deadly secrets). And being this vulnerable and weak meant I couldn't exactly do anything to retaliate now could I?

Funnily enough, the first thing I saw properly was a gun.

I was on a surface that was slightly elevated from the ground so it was directly in my line of sight and, after having gotten into the profession I had, I tended to look for such weapons anyway. It was due to my profession also that I did not react much to its presence aside from the slight tightening of my jaw and more calculating look to my eyes.

My vision of the firearm was then obscured by what I was faintly making out to be a suit and I was lifted suddenly upwards. I looked up to see a blurry face, a great moustache quivering above the man's (or at least, I'd assumed it was) upper lip. "Morning sweetheart!" He greeted and I didn't even try answering back, having attempted speech a long time back and found it impossible to not just make nonsensical noises.

I'd also stopped questioning why they tended to call me pet names all the time-clearly they'd taken a huge, somewhat disturbing however, shine to me.

I was picked up and my cheek was pressed into their suit as I was carried through the room. My eyes flitted from place to place, blurred but much more clear than ever before vision attempting to focus on everything and anything. It was then, as I was carried through what seemed to be a hallway, that I saw a reflection in one of the many mirrors on the walls.

A child. No, not even that. It was a baby with piercing green eyes, being carried by a man with a large moustache and pinstriped suit.

Blinking, I began to turn my head to see where this baby could be when I saw the head of the baby move too. I lifted a hand. It lifted a hand. I waggled my fingers. It waggled its finger.

_...Oh._

I was too surprised to have any other reaction other than the thought of..._oh_.

_Oh dear._

_It seems I am a baby now._

* * *

When I got over my initial shock, I went through a stage of intense anger and annoyance.

I'd became a baby, the most vulnerable and weak creature to ever roam this earth. That was one big, _big_ step down from being a deadly assassin of whom I liked to think only the mafia could have ever killed (a possible overstatement but I was very pissed at the time and over-estimating my abilities did make me feel slightly better about the whole thing).

And I'd be weak for a very long time still. It'd take years in fact for me to regain my former glory, which I of course intended to do since I wanted that thrill back again, the thrill of completing an assassination perfectly.

After this period of 'baby angst' and general hatred of the world, I began to think about my situation more logically. Somehow I'd been reborn as a baby-not as my original self however as I was not initially born an Italian like I had this time round. Even more insanely, I'd been born with all the memories of my past life.

It seemed highly unlikely a possibility but what other choice did I have other than to accept this as the truth?

When I was nearing five months, I realized something even more surprising. I'd been observing my surroundings more keenly now I had near to perfect vision and there were more than a few men-and a few select women-who carried around weapons of all sorts I had noticed. My 'father' seemed to be their leader judging by how he was always being asked for orders and the such. And it was at that time in my new life that I'd happened to be forgotten about during what was clearly an important conversation between leader and subordinate.

"The meeting will be at eleven. All the families are expected to attend." The man speaking with my father informed him.

"And the Cavallone will be there?" My father asked, tone brisk and so much more serious than the one he used when conversing one-sidedly with me.

_Cavallone?_

"Unlikely. They're in such an economic crisis that it won't be long until they'll be out of the picture too. However, since the Vongola is set to attend then perhaps they will still, considering their long-standing partnership…"

_Vongola?_

My mind whirred. I was so very wary of coincidence. Even before I'd become an assassin I'd seemed allergic to the very prospect of accepting things as they were if the odds were unlikely. Instead I was suspicious, questioning it all before I finally came to the conclusion that it really all was by chance or it was all connected.

I'd become aware that my name was Bianchi, the name of a girl from a silly manga about a somewhat 'magical' mafia, the female happening to also have green eyes. The Cavallone and Vongola were mafia families from that fictional universe too. My new father was the head of a group of people who handled various weapons.

So, there were two possibilities:

One, the people around me liked manga far too much and this was all one silly farce.

Or, two, I had been reborn into a mafia family that happened to exist in a fictional world.

The second option would have seemed laughable if it weren't for the circumstances I was already in. After all, if one could be reborn as a baby with all their memories intact, it seemed hardly impossible than one could find themselves in a fictional universe too.

But if this were true and this insanely unlikely event had occurred then…

_The possibilities. _

I smiled, only half listening to the continued conversation between my father and the other man.

_Oh, the __**possibilities**__._

_It seems as though it is time to start planning again._

* * *

**So I was having a conversation with my bro recently about how I really wanted to write an assassin!OC-insert for KHR and we basically ended up having an hour long talk about how cool it would be.**

**And that is why this exists.**

**I don't think anyone has done a Bianchi oc-insert yet but if it has been done then whoops my bad.**

**Sorry this chapter is kinda short but I really hate writing the first chapters for oc-inserts because it always feels like cliched crap and ugggghhhhhhhh.**

**Review? :)**


	2. The Fool Reversed

If I had not had the profession I did in my last life, I am almost certain that I would not have had the reaction I had to the news of me having been reborn into the world of KHR. After all, most would find themselves at the very least thrilled for reasons other than my own.

A world filled to the brim with attractive men and women of whom believed in friendship above all else would be so very tempting to someone relatively 'normal', even more so when you knew everything and could therefore push yourself into their lives with startling ease. You could live the life you always dreamed of.

That however was not an appealing prospect to myself.

_Attractive men and women?_ No, I didn't care for that at all. Having lovers meant leaving evidence behind of your existence so why stare at something you could never take for yourself?

_Friendship?_ Oh no, no, no. The 'power of friendship' is so easily vanquished by promises of wealth, sex, power and death.

But control given from your knowledge of everything? _Sign me up._

I was an assassin. And, with how my profession required _impeccable_ planning so that every hit was carried out perfectly, control was such an enticing prospect. The possibilities this control granted me were practically endless. I could go even further than just planning deaths. I could control lives, get the thrill from that when everything I planned fell into place.

I needed to start planning immediately.

As I was picked up and placed in my cot, I began to run through what I knew.

I was Bianchi.

The Poison Scorpion.

My canonical self was deeply in love with the arcobaleno Reborn and would kill for the sake of his affections.

I was around sixteen-seventeen when I met the future Vongola Decimo, Sawada Tsunayoshi.

That meant if I wanted the most power and control I had around sixteen to seventeen years to prepare. Perhaps I could even meet the future mafia don earlier than that? Integrate myself into his life so that he trusted me wholly and completely, worm my way in so that I became the one with all the power?

Maybe I could go to Xanxus instead? Make him rise in power so that he became Vongola Decimo and chaos erupted in the mafia world? Chaos was good for me as long as I still had some control. Chaos meant frayed nerves and mistakes, meant offering a way out of the mess people were in could get everyone to trust you, meant I had immense power.

What about Byakuran? Less easy to control from behind the scenes of course but I could make myself entertaining enough for him to let me do as I liked, the man not realizing how I was slowly massing my power until he was well and truly stuck. Information from parallel worlds would be _most_ valuable after all.

Tsuna would undoubtedly be the easiest to control (although Xanxus wasn't far off as Bianchi had been stated to be beautiful and I knew men like him could subtly be swayed by beauty if used correctly). A few whispered words of friendship and protecting those he cared about and Tsuna would already be playing into my hands. He didn't understand how the underworld of the mafia and hitmen and assassins worked. Controlling him would be as easy as _breathing_.

But would it be _entertaining_?

Perfection was what I wanted, what I strived for, but I did not want to play a boring game my entire life. Xanxus would inevitably more entertaining to follow after, Byakuran even more so, but _Tsuna_?

_Oh but it is not only him._

Reborn. Glorious, perceptive _Reborn. _He was practically a saint in this world he was so coveted, and for good reason. The world's greatest hitman who tutors to-be mafia dons of families of vast powerful practically as a way to kill time when he's not performing hits.

How wonderful, how absolutely _priceless _would it be then to make him dance in the palm of my hand?

The concept was practically irresistible. Controlling the lives of the ordinary underworld low life was mere child's play compared to controlling the life of one of the tops of the tops, a member of the highest echelon of murderous villains there was. A different breed was what Reborn was, hiding his sharp killing instincts behind the face of an innocent baby and before that behind a pretty face.

To make him dance to the tune you played would be the highest of achievements and to acquire it you would require absolute-

_Perfection._

I would've never considered this in my previous existence. To pitt my wits against someone in the heart of the mafia would be absolutely suicidal and would make anyone who caught a whiff of it die laughing. But in a world where I held all the secrets that no one could possibly know about, it was not the dream of a lunatic. It was possible. Very unlikely but certainly possible.

And so my goal was set.

* * *

By the age of one, I was heralded as the _darling_ of the family. I learned to walk quickly, started talking in baby gibberish soon after and my _lovely, little smiles _were so unlike those of the rest of my kind who screamed, sobbed and shrieked most of the time that I was adored

My father, being the absolute sentimental man he was, cooed and lavished me with expensive gifts designed to make any other child grow up to be the most spoilt of brats the world had ever seen. I personally found it somewhat amusing to see a mafia boss behave in such a ridiculous manner, although amusement grew to boredom quite quickly and I became disinterested in the whole affair.

My mother was a rather attractive lady with the magenta hair I'd inherited atop her head, swirled into extravagant buns with intricate jewels hanging from her neck and ears. I supposed she was a _lady _at first of blue blood and proper upbringing, although I was not blind enough to miss the papers indicating ownership to a string of brothels later on, tucking the information into the back of my mind for safe keeping.

Perhaps the most interesting thing of my very early childhood was however being guided by the hand by my mother to a window with one-way glass and seeing a man get shot in the back of the head. It was clearly to desensitise me to killing, although I of course didn't require it in the slightest, already perfectly acquainted with death. My lack of distress at the event other than a reflexive flinch at the loud sound I had not been expecting was rewarded with even more gifts, piled up by my adoring father.

Soon afterwards, I began to talk and the tower of gifts grew even higher.

* * *

It was easy to tell when my father started the affair with Lavina. The look of a man in love is a foolish one, especially considering his standing in the mafia world and all he had to lose from this fling. My mother watched it all with contented silence despite clearly knowing exactly what was going on, the perfect image of blissful ignorance. I very nearly admired her for it but I had encountered many a marriage like this, affairs rampant and seen as part of the married lifestyle.

In the mafia, marriage was not for love, marriage was for power and security in you and your family's future, blood and figuratively. Whilst my father looked upon my mother with affection, he did not with burning passion. It was probably true that he loved me more than he loved her as I had more than just a piece of paper and a ring tying us together.

Oh, what I _cynical_ view I had of love, however, it was not drawn from past hurt, instead simply drawn from knowledge of the world of the killers. Petty feelings like that had no place here and my parents were fully aware of that.

Or, at least my mother was.

* * *

"Bianchi, dear, come over here would you?"

I turned on my heel with gracefulness unheard of in a two year old. Family members had taken to calling me 'princess' now and I replied to it with pretty smiles and swishes of my dresses. I saw now the advantages young children assassins had, especially cute young girls like myself who just giggled a little to get people to spill secrets without thinking.

"Yes, father?" I looked up at him with a smile, small hands clasped together with perfect, clean nails on the end of each finger. He looked stressed and I couldn't help but feel my smile tighten a little, knowing almost exactly what he was about to say. _Such a fool, _my mind tittered as he licked his lips with an air of nervousness before squatting so he was my height.

"I need you to listen very carefully, Bianchi. See, you're going to have a younger sibling." He spoke slowly and lacked the excitement that should accompany that statement.

My eyes flicked to my mother's form in a way that looked accidental but was very, very deliberate. I'd played this scenario many times in my head before and had a response to everything my father could possible say so that I could get exactly what I wanted out of this. Despite my father's apparent foolishness, he was still a mafia boss and noticed my small glance, the smallest glimmer of panic racing through his eyes. "Is it going to be a girl? I've always wanted a sister."

"Well, we don't know quite yet. Your _mother _has only been pregnant for a short while." He put emphasis on the fact that it was my _mother _pregnant, not a beautiful pianist whom he'd fallen head over heels for. Really now, if nothing else, Lavina should've known better than to have sex with a mafia boss, especially when she later refused to marry him due to the consequences it would have. The man then took my hands in his and rubbed them a little, not looking me in the eyes. "Now, if anyone asks, you tell them _exactly_ that, precious."

"Why would they ask me? You can tell them, can't you?" Innocent curiosity was the path I went down, but with the smallest show of sharp intelligence hidden underneath my pretty pink hair.

"I need to keep the baby safe, Bianchi." My mother spoke, leaning over a little. "So I'm not going to be able to go to many parties. People will get curious though and most likely ask after me, so remember to say that, okay?" She spoke with a little less of a patronizing edge than people usually did.

I nodded, disengaging my hands from my father's. "You'll tell me when you know whether it's a boy or girl though, won't you?"

"Of course we will. Won't we, darling?" She smiled over at my father who smiled back and straightened up.

"That's right."

Leaving with a giggle of my own, I dropped it after shutting the heavy oak door after me. Heading for the gardens, I allowed my thoughts to encompass me, spreading them out inside my mind.

"_Behind every great man there's a woman."_

The saying was one I was acquainted with as a female myself and found it appropriate considering the situation. My mother was very effectively covering up for my father's _mistake._ Accepting the situation with a smile, she was going to pretend to be pregnant and make it so that Gokudera would be treated as a legitimate member of the family. There were no feelings of animosity to the woman who had made her husband cock up so badly, or at the very least she'd hidden them with superb talent.

It was so obvious who was the one running the show in the background, especially since my mother got so much information from her string of owned brothels, relaying it to my father with the dismissing words of 'oh, there's just a rumour going around, although everything has a grain of truth dearest'. If she had been born a man, she would've made a great mafia boss.

On the other hand, perhaps not. I had found where the fairer sex lost out in ease of taking power, we won in our ability to be underestimated, especially in the male-dominated mafia world. Sneaking around and gathering information was _so_ much easier when you were a woman, even more so when the art of seduction was portrayed as being so often in media by the woman and so less suspicious.

I supposed that was why it was a woman behind the great man instead of the other way around because that was where we could blossom into power. It may also have been why there were so many more men in KHR than women aside from the mafia simply being overrun with men; skilled puppeteers are never seen after all.

Sexism was an advantage in my eyes so I'd rather have it then be viewed as an equal in this world of mine.

* * *

**Haven't updated this in a while whoops...**

**Also yo I will just say now that I don't share ALL of my character's viewpoints. Bianchi views things in a far more twisted way than I do and what was touched upon were interesting topics in my opinion so it was fun to write it all from her perspective. **

**Not much is happening so far yet but I kinda want to go fairly quickly through the younger years (coughnotlikeKyokocough) so forgive the lack of real action.**

**Review?**


	3. The Empress

My mother played the role of an expecting women with _impressive_ finesse.

She did not make public appearances often but, when she did, she planned out every move she made from the joy in her voice when speaking about her '_unborn precious child_' to the way her hands rested against her stomach and the act of her back aching somewhat. My father was not per say _terrible _at the facade, however, he paled in comparison to his wife who made it seem inconceivable that she _wasn't _pregnant to the suspicious mafia world.

And of course they were suspicious-affairs were not as secret as the normal populace had them be. Although rumours were savagely killed by my mother herself as a sort of damage control for her husband's foolishness. She did so through her string of brothels, allowing the women of the night to whisper ideas into their temporary lovers' ears in the heat of their passion, their most vulnerable state, all whilst she herself lay in the comfort of her own bed with a man who did not love her.

_Oh woe is me, _I could practically see the scoff in my mother's eyes, head held high and act of pregnancy about to be plastered on. She had not been shamed by my father for his cheating on her, _he _had been silently humiliated by how far he'd allowed it to go. _The birth of a child, tut tut, was it really so hard to keep it in your pants?_

I played my own role in this all of course. Young, pretty Bianchi who was _so_ excited about having a younger sibling. My father had started introducing me to the mafia world, of course only to allied families for now whom he had the closest relationship with. I was an excuse to strengthen those bonds, firstly through friendship with the other young children and secondly through the discussion of marriages when we were older.

I was a pawn dolled up as a sweet daughter no matter how you put it or the amount of love my father lavished upon me. But I was hardly offended by the idea. On the contrary, I found it more impressive to see the man dealing with others so smoothly all without a hint of regret for the daughter he was just selling off with more class than the usual shopkeeper. He regained a little more power in my eyes, however, I really should've expected as much from him. People didn't become a mafia don just because they were related to the previous head, you had to have some skill as a leader and in the business of the underworld they were apart of.

Naturally, I did not mean to go along with his plans of marriage. As fascinating it was to watch him set up the ideas of a stronger bond between his family and another and the fact that I was putting on such pleasantries for these possible husbands, I did not want to be tied down in such a manner. If I were married, I'd have to focus my efforts on being this all-powerful wife like my mother had. Temporary marriages I supposed were fine, as long as they were cut short by say a knife or poison, but if I were to marry as my father dictated, I would not be able to escape so easily.

Briefly, I wondered whether my mother had ever thought the same thing.

* * *

The nine months of pregnancy passed slowly for my father, who worried and fretted about the secret getting out, whilst my mother showed no signs of it having been tiring for her. The fake pregnancy belly towards her 'third term' had been a great source of amusement for me as it was only then that most of the staff at the 'castle' finally caught on to my mother's act-her closest staff had always known but I tittered away when a few maids whispered 'I'm beginning to suspect the mistress isn't actually pregnant…'.

From what I gleaned from the loose-lipped members of the mafia family, Lavina held her son in her arms for a total of three days. My father allowed her the privilege of naming the boy, a stupid decision really as what was more suspicious than naming a boy from a supposedly pure-blood Italian family the Japanese name _Hayato_, and then snatched him from her arms. At the same time, my mother was carted off to a private villa to 'give birth' to the boy. I went too and my father arrived those three days later when his wife supposedly went into labour, carrying his son.

I actually saw Gokudera before my mother. Perhaps it was because we were blood related or it was simply by chance it turned out that way.

Upon seeing his silver hair, I'd almost started laughing because _oh dear father, you're in trouble now. _Neither my mother or father had a history of silver hair being in our genetics and it practically screamed illegitimacy to anyone who saw the boy.

Of course, I fought it down and smiled happily, asking to hold the boy and for my darling _brother's_ name. My mother didn't seem the slightest offended when I walked into the room with Gokudera in my arms, only arching an eyebrow at his silver hair and shooting her husband a somewhat exasperated look.

A few hours later I found myself left along with Gokudera, the baby boy lying in a crib and fast asleep. I supposed he was a cute child although I had no real patience for children with their screams and sobs. They were usually the flaw in my plans as an assassin in their unpredictability and skill in making loud, attention seeking noises.

Leaning my body against the edge of the crib, I hummed as I stared at the boy, a thought entering my mind.

_I wonder what would happen if I killed him?_

It'd be easy to get away with it. Smother him with a pillow and then leave, letting the cause of death be identified as the tragic cot death or be attributed to Laviana's sickness. I'd get no blame, after all, how was I supposed to tell the difference between the baby sleeping and the baby being dead? Maybe my mother would notice but there was no doubt in my mind that she'd say nothing, if anything she'd be pleased by her husband's mistake being striked out. And I'd borne no outward hatred of Gokudera because I'd had none, not even now as I calmly considered the idea of murdering him in his sleep.

What would I get out of killing him? Well, I could take Gokudera's place as Tsuna's storm guardian could I not? And right hand man to Vongola Decimo, my, my, what an _enticing _prospect.

My fingers played about with the corner of the child's pillow.

There'd be no small baby to keep up a good relationship with either. No irritating screaming or need to explain myself when I did things or act like an excited big sister around.

And the final temptation: wouldn't it be _interesting?_

I wanted to see what would happen if Gokudera died before main events even happened. I was not ignorant of the chaos and butterfly theory and my dear sweet half brother had caused quite the ruckus in Italy before flying over to Japan and meeting Tsuna. _Smokin' Bomb Hayato _(or _Hurricane Bomb Hayato_ if you preferred the latter translation) was quite the well known hitman, although I was hardly impressed by the stupidity of his bombing technique.

Honestly, I did not comprehend the idea of using a skill that more often than not blew up in your face. An assassin did not act without the odds being properly analysed and, despite the boy's apparent intelligence, he did not seem to even consider this fact.

My other hand began to hover over the pillow. It'd be quick, he wouldn't even feel the slightest hint of pain. Not that I cared particularly if he did but it was the thought which counted.

...Well, not really.

Eventually, after a minute or so of deliberation, I lifted my hands from the pillow and eased myself away from the crib. No, as interesting as the idea was, killing Gokudera now was not tipped enough in my favour to be a worthwhile course of action. It brought up as many complications as it did rewards for there was no doubt in my mind that Reborn, Tsuna's gatekeeper to the mafia world, would be suspicious of the death of my half brother. Even if there was no reason for it and I put on a show of upset, he might see through it and even discover that I had no real hatred to drive me to commit the act.

Killing without remorse was one thing but killing without even having anything to prompt yourself to do it was something to be feared. Also, it was definitely something to steer a young, prospective mafia boss clear of.

Even so, I was already considering the idea of murdering Gokudera when I was older. I could maybe orchestrate it so that I came out looking the good guy and Tsuna trusted me, or portraying myself as the tortured soul who had to kill to protect and _please protect me Vongola Decimo, your my last hope to be safe in this world._

I left the room, amusing myself with the idea that the baby in the crib had no idea their life could've been cut so short with complete ease.

_What a commodity some lives are._

* * *

It took a while before Gokudera was shown off to the mafia world. My entrance to this underworld had been fairly quick, although my intelligence had put me on the fast track for it, however, Gokudera's hair colour was a problem.

My mother ended up reassuring my father it would be fine-the two of them looked alike enough for it to be certain that the boy was definitely his son even if he was born out of wedlock. Xanxus' debut into the world of killers was also around the same time which further encouraged the man to show off his son finally as there was no doubt the wielder of rage flames was illegitimate. I had not seen any glimpse of the future Varia boss yet though as, whilst I knew our family to be powerful, the Vongola were the top of the top and wouldn't ever personally associate with us. Only though big parties did my father ever meet them and in my fragile youth I was still not permitted to go to such events.

I didn't particularly mind this. Being too well known would present some difficulties later in life when the assassinating business started up again so I settled for making my world as small as my family and it's allies.

For some reason, Gokudera clung to me as his older sister, cooing and grinning whilst attempting to drool all over me. It was probably a good thing he acted so attached to me as I did not feel particularly drawn to the idea of acting the same on my own initiative unless the situation really called for it. One of his first words was _'sorella' _and my father found it absolutely adorable whilst my mother smiled like she always did.

If she hated Gokudera, she did a very good job of hiding it. She treated him in almost the exact manner she had treated me at his age, although I suspected I was treated with a tad bit more respect for my maturity beyond my years.

And Lavina, oh beautiful Lavina. We finally met on her fourth visitation of her son, face pale and thinness obvious. _Dying, most likely with a terminal illness, _I decided without much sympathy for the pianist as she looked down at me in surprise. "Hello." She had a soft, pretty voice and I tutted mentally. _She'd never survive as the wife of a mafia boss, she should count it a blessing her illness gave her a reason not to accept my father's proposals._

"Hello. I'm Bianchi." I smiled, looking up at her through my eyelashes. Realization darted through her eyes, clearly deciphering that I was her lover's first child from his _actual _wife. Such a look made me wonder whether my dearest father had initially lied to her, said he was not married, that he had no children, for Lavina seemed far too morally upstanding to have an affair with a man who did.

Or perhaps I was raising her onto a pedestal she did not deserve?

Instead was Lavina one of those 'true love knows no boundaries' types? She was younger than my father so a few sugar coated words might've made her fall into bed with him and cover her eyes to the wife and daughter he had.

Honestly, wording it in such a way made it seem as though I _cared_.

"O-oh, so you're Hayato's sister?" She grasped at her shawl, clearly uncomfortable with this turn of events.

Nodding, I twirled a finger in my hair. It was getting long and I had been considering when I should cut it. Long hair was supposedly the epitome of western beauty but I had tended to wear wigs before to reach such a standard whilst keeping my actual hair short. Or I could dye it eventually to blonde-it was cliched but true that blondes were underestimated and also often seen as more attractive.

"Ah, you have pianist fingers just like your brother!" Lavina broke through my thoughts on my hair with a beam, gesturing towards my hands. "Have you ever played the piano before, Bianchi?"

I resisted the urge to scoff. Of course I had, knowing how to play an instrument or two was a much sought after skill when one was an assassin. It opened up so many more opportunities, for example, sneaking into a party as a musician or acting as a teacher to a relative of the target. "Yes, it's fun, isn't it?"

Her smile got wider, finally swimming in waters she knew. "It's great fun, I'm teaching your brother a little at the moment actually. One day perhaps you'd like to join us too?"

_Ah. The guilt was showing through._

"Maybe." I returned her smile, ensuring I fidgeted the slightest to show my interest in the conversation waning. Her beam faltered a little at this and her eyes glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. It was gold and intricate, roman numerals boasting the time as though somehow this old system of numbers indicated wealth and how much better we were off than everyone else. Lavina looked so out of place in her worn dress and it was such a _blessing_ she was dying. A mere _clock_ that wasn't even the most expensive one in the house had more class than she did.

"I'm sorry Bianchi but I'm a little late for something-I hope I can see you again!" Bowing her head a little, despite being the elder in this situation, she waved goodbye as she hurried off, silver hair flying.

_No wonder everyone realized she was Gokudera's mother, _I sniffed, a door next to me cracking open and my half brother tumbling out, chubby fingers clinging to my leg. "_Sorella!_" He giggled, face pressing into the side of my skirt. Lavina briefly turned at the sound of her son's voice but was met by a smile from me that made her snap her head back round. I watched her disappear round a corner and a couple of maids appear straight afterwards, whispering and looking behind their shoulders with disbelieving stares.

_What a pitiful woman, _I mused without really any hint of pity.

* * *

**So, quite a few people were going all 'I think Gokudera and Bianchi will be awesome siblings!'**

**:))))**

**I actually seriously considered her murdering Gokudera as a baby but changed my mind at the last minute. It shows her feelings towards him pretty well though haha**

**Halfway through writing that scene my dad asked what I was doing and replied with "Oh y'know, just the discussion of killing a baby not out of hatred but just cuz they wanna know what would happen because of it."**


	4. The Devil

At three years of age I began my education officially. Privately, of course, with expensive tutors shipped in from everywhere in order to ensure that I had the best learning experience possible. As the daughter of a mafia don, I couldn't possibly socialize with children in actual, gasp, _schools. _

Naturally, the education I was to receive at this point was meant to be extremely basic. However, the patronizing nature of my tutors irritated me to the point of displaying more intelligence-not enough to be considered clever as an adult but enough so I didn't spend all my time counting how many apples Tommy had.

These lessons did allow for me to have time away from my clingy half-brother, which was a plus since his presence was somewhat aggravating. Only my goal of controlling this entire world kept me from letting my dislike of him show through entirely.

World domination. Honestly, I sounded like such the typical villain. Although I understood the sentiment of these antagonists more than ever now.

Perhaps, considering this world was meant to be fictional, I counted as the usual antagonist after all?

* * *

I was aged four when _he _arrived.

Lessons for the day over, I was curled up in an armchair in my bedroom, finding solace in a very absorbing murder mystery novel (I rather wanted the murderer to be the teacher as she seemed far too innocent to not be lying and it would be _most_ impressive if she was). Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. It was hovering just by the side of my book, edging closer and making the tiniest sound that hadn't been detectable in my concentrated state.

Very calmly, I fidgeted so that it was right over my opened book and then snapped it shut with a resounding thump.

I discarded the book onto the floor without looking, strolling casually towards my door and into the corridor. _Shame it'll have to be incinerated now, I rather liked it. Perhaps I'll buy a copy, _I thought absentmindedly, descending a staircase and towards one of the many lounges. Stopping before turning the final corner, I mentally tutted at the sound of my father's voice, tinged with emotion and distress. _You should lower your voice father dearest, secrets can get out if you don't._

"She refuses to allow me to help her so I beg that you do it instead so she won't notice- you understand, don't you? If she dies I don't know what I'll _do_…!"

Twirling a lock of hair around one finger, I examined my nails briefly. There were no signs of the dirt I'd acquired when training earlier-my body was so malleable, so _weak _in my youth so I'd started light exercises in order to remedy this as quickly as possible.

"Don't worry, I promised I'd help you and I will."

My bored actions halted at the sound of the familiar voice, eyes narrowing. It was familiar in more than just the sense of having heard it from a certain person's lips before. The unreadable nature of it. The controlled, slow measure of it. The concealed weight it had on the person they were speaking to.

_I know your kind well._

My ears caught the telltale buzz of another one of _them_ from around the corner and I plastered a childish grin on my face, walking along as if I had never stopped. I applied more pressure to my feet as they pressed against the floor, purposefully making my footsteps progressively louder. It would not do to scare my father's guest by appearing without him being able to sense me-although I was not opposed to showing off a bit of my skill by only revealing myself at this distance. Perhaps if _he _was smart then he might even notice how him sensing me was not inexperience on my part.

The door was ajar by quite a substantial amount but I pushed it open a little more anyway, my father quickly covering up his distressed expression with a smile. "Bianchi, sweetheart, what are you doing here?"

I took a step into the room before answering, finally seeing my father's visitor.

There is a thing that happens when two people of a certain kind meet. A specific exchange of looks, a distinct quirk of the lips, a definite evaluation of who is stronger and whether you will challenge this or allow one another to continue their business without interference.

The meeting of assassins.

My father's visitor was young, most definitely in his twenties. His body was for the most part concealed by a suit, slightly dishevelled in places, but the lines of his muscles pressing against the fabric were visible. White, pale scars dotted the visible skin but they were small in number and fairly faded. Lips quirked up slightly, as if to give off the image of a calm individual, and..._the eyes of a killer._

I felt my smile grow a little. "_Papa_, who is this?"

"Ah, this is Doctor Shamal. He will be working here from now on." My father introduced the man who bowed to me extravagantly.

"I am honoured to meet you, princess." Shamal lifted his head again, smiling still but eyes still deadly. I pretended not to notice, clasping my hands behind my back and closing my eyes slightly.

"It's nice to meet you too, _doctor_." I tilted my head to look at my father again. "Ah, by the way, _papa, _can we go shopping for new books? My favourite one got ruined whilst I was playing."

I couldn't resist putting in the subtle warning to Shamal. I suspected he already knew that one of his mosquitoes had been killed by yours truly but it would not hurt to have him a little more aware of my intelligence. Family was one thing but assassins needed to know not to mess with you or they'd use you in their schemes.

Well, at least I would. And, Shamal supposedly being a genius and all, I expected the same of him despite him being younger.

_Trident Shamal._

He had the most _useful_ killing technique. When used correctly, he could make his target's death seem completely natural with a suitable disease. And he could be miles away whilst his little creatures did the deed for him, making any suspicion cast upon himself minimal.

Almost the _perfect _assassination skill.

_Perhaps I can steal it? _I mused absentmindedly, continuing to smile at the killer in the form of a young man.

* * *

The last time I saw Lavina was the last time Gokudera did too. Pale and even thinner than before, she left with what I supposed would be a heartbreaking smile if I really cared about her. Before she disappeared, she knelt down and held my hand in her's, asking me to take good care of my darling younger brother.

I resisted the temptation to mention how I'd been one move away from killing the boy in his cot just to see what her reaction would be.

She left with her silver hair flying behind her and Gokudera's piano playing filling the air as he practised what she'd last taught him.

* * *

On his third birthday, Gokudera waited excitedly on the piano stool, waiting for his beautiful piano teacher to arrive. At four in the afternoon, my father's scream of misery echoed through the corridors.

My mother and I ignored him.

* * *

"Bianchi."

I didn't turn at my mother's voice, allowing her to continue to braid my hair with careful perfection. "Yes, _mama_?"

One of her unblemished hands rested on my shoulder, clean, pretty nails adorning her fingers. A sigh escaped her mouth, not out of exhaustion but simple exasperation at a feature of the world surrounding her. "Do not overestimate the power of men. They may have positions of great influence but in reality they have hearts like the rest of us." Her voice held no great emotion as if she had just commented on the weather rather than made a statement of the weakness of men.

I resisted the urge to remark upon her considerable lack of heart towards the man she had married with an amused tone, instead passing my eyes over a man's jacket I knew did not belong to my father and the crumpled note with handwriting that could be seen on bottles of medicine and medical reports all around the mansion.

Oh, Lavina truly had been the fool. A mere poor pianist did not hold even a lick of light to the raging fire that was the wife of a mafia boss and the owner of various brothels.

* * *

My eyes drifted over the form of a young woman hurrying past me, the tell tale signs of bruises on her neck and mussed hair making me want to laugh. It was easy to track where she'd come from and I traced her steps back to a room with the door slightly ajar. Through the gap I could see that the bedsheets were a mess and a shirt hanging over the back of a chair, which was promptly snatched up a few moments before the door was opened fully.

"Did you have a good morning, _doctor?_" I resisted the urge to titter as Shamal buttoned up his shirt hastily, grabbing his jacket from the doorknob and shutting the door behind him.

"You're up earlier than usual, _piccola_." He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, plastering a smile on his face. His eyes then caught sight of a clock and he visibly bit back a wince. "Or, it seems, I am up later than usual."

I bit my tongue, deciding it would not be in my favour to make a comment about him having been _up _much earlier for certain. "Don't worry, my other teachers rearranged their schedules to account for this." I didn't miss the slight look of alarm on his face at the other tutors knowing exactly what he had been up to with that woman who had rushed off.

"Oh, well, lucky that." Shrugging his jacket on, he started towards his other private room, making sure his pace was slow enough so that I could keep up. A mosquito hovered by his shoulder and my eyes narrowed by the slightest amount, quashing the urge to kill the insect before it could cause me any harm. The instinct was uncontrollable; my reflexes were honed to react to danger and I could not train it out of me even if I wanted at this point.

Unlocking the door the room, Shamal opened it for me to walk in first, flicking the switch for the lights so the space was illuminated. It was luxurious like most of the other rooms but far more practical as well with shelves filled and drawers kept to the side so it would be more spacious. There was a metal table too, currently kept in a cupboard out of sight, for bodies of both the alive and dead to be laid on.

This was Shamal's personal quarters for him to make use of his title of doctor. I had come to use it as the space for my unofficial medical, biology and poison lessons.

I'd requested this soon after Shamal had joined my father's family in the name of 'curiosity', which was one of my few times of honesty.

(Well, honesty to an extent as I'd also done it to keep an eye on the assassin so I'd know if he'd planned to do anything drastic as to escape unscathed.)

"So, what would _signorita_ like to learn today?" The man questioned, rifling through some bottles on a shelf. A few questions sprang to mind, most unaskable as Shamal would most likely be greatly disturbed and think that I was plotting to murder someone in their sleep. A reasonable assumption too-I'd perfectly planned out how I would assassinate him if it came to it.

Several times in fact.

"I watched this film last night." I began, hopping onto a chair and swinging my legs back and forth purposefully. "They forced someone to tell the truth by drinking something. Is that _possible_?" I made my eyes large and deathly curious.

He turned on his heel and I counted one large hickey on his adam's apple._ Oh, too obvious, you won't pull another woman if you don't cover that up_. "In vino veritas_."_

"_In wine there is truth." _I translated the latin phrase, smiling when Shamal cocked an eyebrow. "My father's family members say that a lot as an excuse for drinking."

Shamal barked out a laugh before running his thumb down his stubble. "Ah, piccola, what a world we live in where that is a suitable excuse for a glass of wine…" He shook his head, clearly amused by what I'd told him. I'd had the same reaction when the latin phrase had been thrown at me accompanied by a drunken grin. It was _laughable _that those members of my father's family felt comfortable enough to get themselves get absolutely wasted without a substantial excuse for it. I'd had to resist the urge to poison one of them several times in order to make a display of how stupid it was for them to lower the guard so much.

_Alas, I must allow the stupidity to continue, _I thought with a dramatic mental sigh, turning my attention back to the doctor once more.

"There isn't any officially recognized truth serum, however, there is one that is commonly used to act in that manner." Shamal paused dramatically, leaning over as so to grin at me. "_Sodium thiopental._ It slows down your thinking process so one is more prone to speak more loosely about matters. Of course, there are other methods to extract information that are much more effective…" He trailed off, making me dully note that he was referring to the practice of torture.

That, I agreed, was a far better method than the use of sodium thiopental.

I was somewhat disappointed with the doctor's confession however to the aforementioned liquid being the only mostly trusted _truth serum. _I would have thought that the mafia would have made advancements in that area considering I knew of it before entering this world. Then again, torture was a tried and tested practice so there was no point to changing what worked.

Or, another likely conclusion was that Shamal was opting not to tell me about any advancements in the area_. _Assassins didn't share their trade secrets with anyone after all; you wanted to stay ahead of the ignorant masses for as long as possible.

"Not as eloquent an answer as you'd like, _signorita?_" At my lack of speech, the man assumed correctly that I was dissatisfied to what he had said, although for the wrong reasons. "Well, at least you know that going round drugging people with a truth serum isn't worth it."

I faked a laugh.

* * *

When 'the piano woman' (as he so called her) didn't show up at his fourth birthday, Gokudera didn't even bat an eyelid, easily coaxed from the music room by a simple promise of cake. My mother even seemed somewhat pleased by his reaction, a stark difference from our father who turned pale before excusing himself.

The servants whispered about the mysterious silver haired beauty and her true relation to my half-brother, however simple glances from the woman of the household caused them to hold their tongue with twisted, anxious expressions.

Shamal slept away the day in the company of yet another beautiful lady and I felt the distinct urge to laugh at his stupidity. He may have been a renowned hitman, sure, but he was still young and easily coaxed into doing the bidding of another through whispered, sultry begs for a simple favour.

There was a reason that many of the _characters _in this world were so objectively attractive. Those with beauty had another weapon that those without could not grasp so easily. And my mother had sharpened her blade to perfection.

* * *

**Sorry I took so long to update! Don't worry, I haven't lost interest in this fic at all, it just takes a while to get each chapter done even when they're quite small…**

**Hopefully things can move more quickly now!**


	5. The Star Reversed

_Another failure._

I barely resisted the urge to growl aloud at my lack of success, the newest attempt lying innocently on its disposable plate.

_Pathetic. _My inability to do what should come _naturally _to this body of mine was slowly eating away at my mind, spiraling thoughts of anger threatening to spill out of the fake mask I had created for myself.

I did not tolerate failure, especially my own. It was more forgivable (if only by a tiny amount) if those around me did not complete what they set out to achieve. Not everyone could be trusted to do perfectly but that was acceptable since I did not expect as such and therefore accounted for it in my plans.

Not being able to meet my own standards however was utterly-

_**Pathetic**__._

In the very image of calmness, I disposed of the biscuits I had cooked, watching them as the slid into the bin with resounding thumps in the empty kitchen I resided in.

What was the _point _to this body if I couldn't even use what it was most well known for?

What was the _point _to my speeches of grandeur if I couldn't even do something that was supposed to come _naturally_?

I was being overdramatic. My advantages in this world still outweighed my disadvantage of being unable to use Bianchi's signature move: poison cooking. The idea though, the idea that I would _fail _at something that was meant to be so simple, gnawed away at my standards of perfection.

_Breathe._

Taking a calming breath, I allowed the bin to slam shut and exited the kitchen, twirling a lock of hair around my finger. It was fine. Bianchi still wouldn't discover her ability for a couple of years still. I had time to learn. Time to understand. Time to get ahead of the original.

When a mosquito flew in front of me, I didn't even bother to avoid it, instead letting it fall out of the air and crushing it beneath my feet.

* * *

There were always theatrics to adhere to in such scenarios, I was well aware of. The hushing of the audience. The careful positioning of the body on the seat. The downwards tilt of the head and appearance of the delicate hands. Then, the dramatic rise of the fingers before the sudden fall, stopping at just the right moment so that the first note rang out softly.

I swayed a little in time to the music, letting my hands run up and down the keys in a manner that seemed effortless. Every now and then I poured an imitation of emotion into the performance, barely noting the murmured rounds of approval as I continued. Then, a slow finish, the final note pushed out gently before turning and curtseying prettily.

Bursts of applause rang out and I acknowledged it with a practised smile, ignoring Gokudera's fervent clapping and beam in awe. "Such a talented girl." People praised as I made my way through the hubble of dolled up mafioso, hiding their usual domineering personalities underneath prim suits and silk dresses, huge jewels hanging around the necks of the women like some sort of lavish leash to their husbands. I briefly met my mother's eyes as she thanked another astounded guest, _yes, she is quite impressive and we're so, so proud._

"_Für Elise_." A voice drew me to the edge of the party, Shamal leant against a wall with an amused glint in his eyes and a flute of champagne in his hand. "Quite the advanced piece for someone so young, isn't it?"

I resisted the urge to yawn and dismiss his comment with a wave _(who cares if it is advanced, I will have it perfected no matter what the skill level, I won't accept anything less). _"Well, I'm just talented then, aren't I?" My lips quirked into a mischievous smile, skirt rustling as my hands brushed the material. I cast my eyes over the people at the party. Shamal had chosen quite the vantage point. From here I could see practically everyone: those from the allied families of ours with hearty laughs and relaxed grins whilst those less close kept their emotions nearer to their chests. Gokudera was by my father's side, obviously being showed off to everyone as the future heir to the family.

My eyes the slid over those next to the food tables and I arched an eyebrow; they were dressed in less expensive robes and their role was clear. "Poison testers in this day and age?" Shamal noticed my staring with a smirk, probably finding the whole thing hilarious.

"Do they not trust the family?" I asked even though I knew the answer, watching one man take a bite of a fish and wondering what would occur if he happened to choke on a bone.

"Its an insult." The doctor drawled, taking a sip of his drink. He'd dressed up nicely, usually disheveled attire instead neat and crisp. The constant stubble was gone too, the man clean shaven and practically _presentable. _"They're saying your father is not only untrustworthy but also underhanded enough to kill in such a manner."

I barely bit down my guffaw at what Shamal was saying. Oh, what a world we lived in, where killing in one manner was acceptable whilst another was _unhonorable_. Death was death and, really, it was almost childish for the mafioso to spend their time arguing about the method to the same finishing product.

"I didn't know we had that many enemies..." I attempted to sound thoughtful at this _'new' _piece of information.

He shrugged, glancing down at me briefly. "Not so much enemies as simply bitter families who are not experiencing as much success as your father."

"Are they not more jealous of other families?" I asked, inwardly amused by the petty display before my eyes.

The man almost choked on his drink, barely smothering his laughter. "Oh, _piccola_, one doesn't insult _anyone_ who can kill you and all those you care for with the same effort as it takes to swat a fly. That's like taunting someone who has a loaded gun pointed at you whilst you're completely defenseless."

"So, those hiring poison testers are calling us weak also?" My eyes wandered over to where my mother was. She'd caught sight of those testing the food, although her only sign of offense to the view was the slight tightening of her lips. I noticed how she was surrounded by women, those closest to her wearing the more finer clothes than those to the outskirts of the group. At the epicenter, she was offering smiles and softly spoken exchanges of words, at first glance seemingly equal to every other woman around her but at a second so obviously the leader of the pack.

Even if I didn't love the woman, I felt a tinge of pride that I was related to someone who had so many people wrapped around her finger it was _laughable_.

* * *

I laid my cheek on the side of the toilet seat, biting down a groan of agony as my stomach twisted and churned. Several small bottles were scattered on the tiles of my private bathroom, surrounding me. Each vial contained a liquid of a sort, some coloured in strange ways but most being almost colourless. Waiting for the next wave of nausea to pass by, I sighed quietly.

Training myself to become immune to poison really was an irritating ordeal, even if the payoff was great.

* * *

"Don't laugh."

I barely tried smothered my giggle, eyes twinkling with honest amusement as Shamal peeked around the door again, a frantic expression on his face. "Oi, what did I just say?" He huffed, satisfied that no one was out there and pushing the door shut.

"Is my brother so terrifying?" Mentally, I was full out cackling at the hilarity of the situation. Gokudera had for some unknown reason decided to attach himself to Shamal, following the man around and pleading for him to give lessons to the child like he did for me. At first, the hitman had found it somewhat endearing.

Then Gokudera had accidentally almost walked in on him in the 'company' of another lady and Shamal had decided the boy was satan incarnate.

"How he keeps on finding me is a miracle." He shuddered, sticking his hands into his pockets as he approached the sofa opposite to me and practically throwing himself down on it. "Children are so annoying."

"Ahem."

"Excluding you, of course, _piccola_." Shamal flashed a smile and I rolled my eyes dramatically, letting out a childish giggle to complete the picture.

There was a sort of satisfaction I felt at the fact that the man's opinion of me was higher than that of Gokudera's. Logically, of course he thought better of me. I was far more intelligent than my younger half brother and, despite the drawback of having to constantly keep up the facade of being a young girl, I was considerably better company than an over excited toddler. Naturally, Shamal would rather spend time teaching me tidbits of sometimes useful information.

I dwelled briefly on the idea of a slight superiority complex festering in my mind but discarded it moments after. Most likely anyone would feel pleased at the idea of being liked more than a dribbling child who had yet to grasp the concept of witty conversation.

In any case, the fact I was looked on favourably by Shamal was a satisfying thing alone. Despite my lack of interest in _real _relationships with anyone, one never knew when a hitman like him would come in useful, and receiving his services free with the mere mention of 'friendship' was not something to be above.

* * *

Standing beside one of the many french windows, I watched as a small group of servants gathered outside. A maid was passing around a worn bag, smiling and laughing with the others as they all took their own biscuit from inside it. After a few minutes or so had passed, she noticed me watching them and waved, eyes flashing gratefully. I responded with a wave of my own, plastering a smile onto my lips.

_That batch of poison cooking failed then._

* * *

Gokudera's finger danced across the keys, the anxious knot in his throat he had earlier complained of clearly untying itself the more he played. He'd inherited his mother's flair for music, I'd give the child that, standing beside _my _mother within the crowd gathered in front of the piano. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Shamal, disinterested in Gokudera's little show of musical talent but _exceedingly _interested in the woman almost pressed flush against him.

I found myself feeling a little jealous that he'd found his own entertainment whilst I was forced to watch my brother's piano recital with the perfect mask of the proud elder sister. True, I'd said he was talented, however, that was taking into account his young age. Even others watching could see this also, murmurs flying about at how whilst the darling boy _Hayato_ was skilled, his performance of _Gymnopedie no 1 _paled in comparison to that of his sister's recital the earlier year.

My mother heard it all but made no indication of whether she felt pride in her child tied to her by actual blood bettering the illegitimate boy.

Gokudera ended the piece with a flourish of the hand, the smile he'd acquired as he had lost himself in the music briefly disappearing in a nervous glance at his audience only to return at the round of polite applause. Our father strolled to his side and placed a firm, proud hand upon his son's shoulder. As the crowd descended upon them with the usual carefully chosen words of praise, I saw the woman who had been toying with Shamal's tie swaying her hips as she moved towards one of the doors, noting the ring on one of his fingers not without a degree of amusement.

_Playing with fire again are we, dear doctor?_

The said man had to pass by me in order to follow after her, pausing briefly by my side and lowering his voice to a whisper. "Quite the childish performance, although with a charming style quite unlike the robotic perfection of his sister. Right, _piccola_?" He teased with a sly smile.

I barely managed to pull back the irritated glare directed at his back as he quickly strolled towards the door before anyone noticed him leaving, fingers waggling in a mocking farewell.

* * *

_**Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.**_

I threw the biscuits so hard into the bin they smashed apart.

* * *

"Bianchi."

I glanced up from the book I'd only half been reading, thoughts working harder on chemical formulas and new plans to make Bianchi's famed poison cooking work (because now I was late and I had a schedule that had to be kept to _no matter what). _A careful, practiced smile graced my lips. "Yes, _papa?_"

My father stood on the other side of the room, one hand pressed against the window pane and gazing down at the sight of the perfectly kept gardens below. Glancing past him, I could see Gokudera out there, playing with a few other children of influential backgrounds. Due to the lack of canon poison cooking induced trauma, he had not thought to pursue the ridiculous notion of joining a mafia family other than our father's even though he was set to become boss of it once old enough. Thusly he did not run around with sticks of dynamite, which was half a relief as children with explosives boded nothing but stupidity and death. Half of me however felt dully disappointed I wouldn't get to see my half brother accidentally blow himself up.

"Your tutors tell me you are progressing with leaps and bounds," my father told me not without a degree of fondness to his tone, although with other emotions mixed in also. Regret. Guilt. Misery. He sighed. "It is a shame you were born a girl. If it were not an ingrained tradition to hand control of the family to the sons first, I would be more than satisfied with you as the heir."

"I am already satisfied to stand by Hayato's side instead, _papa_," I lied with a smile. The man seemed pleased by my answer, offering his own twitch of the lips in response.

I turned my attention back to the book again. There was some genuine satisfaction I felt towards his observance of my intellect being greater than that of my brother's. To be recognized as an agreeable heir to a mafia family was nothing to sniff at. It meant people were willing to give me control, willing to trust me with it, willing to let me puppeteer events with pretty words and not thinking to stop me until it was too late-

_Wait._

The page I'd been turning over halted halfway, hands freezing in position.

Images flashed through my mind. The maids gossiping about things they shouldn't have been. Gokudera pressed up against the wall just around the corner, eyes wide with horror and cogs twisting and turning in that tiny brain of his. Him _running_.

My father had practically just confessed that he would hand the mafia family over to me if Gokudera did not exist. So, if my _dear younger brother _ran away from home one day as a result of discovering the truth of his mother's death then would that not happen? I'd be handed the role of boss.

I did not want to be boss.

To be boss of a mafia family meant I would be tied down to it. Therefore, I would not be able to go over to Japan and play my hand at the 'friendship games' Sawada Tsunayoshi and his family so loved to take part in. The objective to make Reborn dance in the palm of my hand that I'd so carefully plucked out of the millions of other things I could've done would not be reached.

_I cannot allow that to happen._

I gripped the page tighter, eyes narrowing and lips pressing together in a firm, straight line. Gokudera could not run away. I had to make him stay, make him take over our father's role as boss no matter what. I could _not _fail.

The paper tore a little.

* * *

**Sorry for the SUPER late update wow**

**I basically finished this chapter ages ago save a few scenes and completely forgot about it whoops**


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